


Like in the movies

by Insecuriosity



Series: Swerve loneliness series [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Heatfic, Loneliness, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Examination, Mild Sexual Content, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7253473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity/pseuds/Insecuriosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swerve wakes up in his habsuite, feeling a bit under the weather. A short self-diagnosis later, he knows why. He is in Heat! And everyone knows what the cure is to a Heat cycle - a good frag!<br/>This is the perfect opportunity to get closer to the people that he cares about.</p><p>It doesn't quite work out the way he's hoping...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like in the movies

When Swerve woke up, he couldn't tell where he was. His recharge protocols were powering down like normal, but his fuel-pump was pounding, and his processors were running so hard that he felt like his head was cooking.

“Whuh-” He said eloquently. He struggled to sit up, and waited for the heavy feeling in his head to drain away. “Uurgh….Did I even recharge at all?” 

Swerve groaned, and he initiated his self-diagnostic programming. He hadn't felt this bad in a long time, but at least he’d made it to a berth this time. 

He let his head rest in his hands, and waited for his system to spin down. After a few breems Swerve finally felt well enough to online his optics, and he blearily looked around his habsuite. Still just as empty and messy as before.  
Had he gotten overcharged last night? He couldn’t remember drinking anything strong, or even drinking anything at all. His last active memory before falling into recharge was actually just him lying on his berth trying to fall asleep. No memories of a party, no memories of weird-tasting drink.... So why did he feel like slag warmed over?

A ping signalised that his self-diagnostics had finished, and Swerve opened up the report. A lot of numbers were outside of their allowed perimeters, and Swerve's brows furrowed as he checked the list. It wasn’t overcharge, that was for sure- he was actually running lower on energy than he should be. It wasn’t an injury either, or contaminated systems-….  
He was actually starting to feel a little panic rising in his fuel tank when he finally stumbled upon the cause of his system overdrive.

“The heat?...” He said incredulously. He stared at the report, and read it again, just to be sure he was reading it right. “I... I'm in heat?”

In all honesty, Swerve had almost forgotten that that frame-function actually existed. Outside of fiction that is.  
'Going into heat' was one of the most popular fiction tropes in the Cybertronian romance libraries. Mecha losing themselves to the pleasure, finally daring to confess their secret love to their special one- and people being brought closer together when they thought they had nothing in common…. Swerve would be hard pressed to find a romance story without one or two aspects of the Heat trope. 

But in actual real life a mech going into heat was almost unheard of – to the point where Swerve had actually thought it was a myth. 

Swerve vaguely remembered the Council-phamphlets explaining the symptom as a 'system purge' or 'system check' of some sort. Nobody else had ever been able to come up with a better explanation, because outside of a system check, nobody could figure out what 'the heat' was for. It was just something that happened, and something that was easily cured.

If there was anything that Swerve remembered with absolute 100% clarity, it was the cure for being in Heat. A good few sessions of fragging, preferably with a lover, or someone close to you.  
In the stories and tropes, mecha with the Heat would come out with a new Amica, or even their Conjunx! 

Almost immediately Swerve's mind sprang to Blurr. His frame began burning warmer, and an image of himself with his arms around Blurr’s waist flashed into his mind.  
Of course, Blurr was not going to be an option right here and now – but the heat didn’t demand the perfect partner. It just required a friend – someone nice, willing to help. Like Skids, or Drift, or Rodimus! 

Swerve’s plating shivered pleasantly as he thought of their fields tangling with his own, lying on a large comfortable berth….

This. This was an opportunity. Swerve gripped side of his berth, and tried to bring his breathing back to a more stable level.  
The Heat was, technically speaking, classified as a condition, and before the war, asking for someone's help to 'cure it' was considered a rational thing to do, right? Swerve was almost vibrating with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. Basically, with the excuse of being in heat, he could now ask literally anyone for a frag, without seeming like a creep! 

Swerve hopped off his berth, and began brushing off his plating as well as he could with his hands. His morning routine happened all by auto-pilot as he mentally went through a list of all the people he wanted to ask.

It was a strange and surreal idea, that after quite a many nights of lonely aching, he now had a identifiable 'illness' to which the cure was interfacing. All he had to do was explain his situation, and boom! Sure, it might not be exactly what he would want, but in all honesty, he could settle for a good night of cuddling and draw energy from it for decacycles.  
There were probably dozens of people that had had the same fantasies he’d had about interfacing with someone in their Heat! At least one of his friends would be in that category too. Swerve was sure of it!

Swerve tried to shake the nerves out of his frame as he faced down the door leading out of his habsuite. He flexed his plating, stretched his cabling, and took a few deep breaths. 

First stop: Skids.

-

“I... that's.... quite the proposition.” Skids said. His friendly expression had staled into an odd frozen smile, and Swerve was already feeling his vocaliser lock up a little. 

“Well, you know, I’m not actually that “quite” in berth, if you know what I mean!” He joked. “It's no big deal, really, just a case of the heat, and I thought you might want to help. It's really distracting, actually. The symptoms. It started feeling all tingly a while ago, but I think that that's normal... So, do you want to help?”

Skids' expression became unfrozen, and now he just looked awkward. “I'm sorry Swerve, but, no. Not really. I'm on duty.”

Swerve hoped that the sting of his disappointment didn't reach his expression. “Really? You sure you can't take a shift off-? It’s the HEAT, you know? Like from all the movies and books and such?....”

“No, sorry Swerve. I can’t help you.” Skids actually looked like he was sorry, and that tasted just a little too close to pity for Swerve. 

“Oh, pf! That's okay. I had someone else that asked me, but I wanted to check if maybe you wanted to help, it's fine.” Swerve laughed as he backed off. “I felt like friends should get first pick you know? It’s very rare, very sought after, pretty cool and everything-…. Anyway, have a good shift and all that!” 

Swerve didn't exactly run away, but it came close. When Skids couldn’t see him anymore, he let his shoulders droop a little, and exvented.

Apparently Skids wasn’t really into the whole ‘heat’ trope. Swerve pushed away his disappointment. It wasn't like this was going to be exactly like in the novels – real life didn't work that way. Still, he would have liked it if Skids had wanted to stay with him during his heat.  
But! Swerve had a few other people on his list, and he had a good feeling about them! 

Drift was always willing to help people in need, plus Swerve was pretty sure that Drift was really into interfacing. In those games of “I have never” in the bar, it’d become apparent that Drift had done almost any kinky act out there – not to mention all the gossip that people had about his berth skills.  
Drift would have no trouble at all, and maybe he would even invite Swerve back for a second round! The rift between them would grow smaller as friendship bloomed-…. Yes!

In better spirits, Serve set off down the hallway, off to look for the white speedster.

-

“No.” Drift said. His arms were crossed so tightly that Swerve could hear his plating creak from where he was standing, and every seam of the mech was oozing with danger. His dentae were clenched together, and his face was pulled into an ugly, frightening sneer. “Not. Ever.”

Swerve didn't bother saying goodbye, and instead fled down the hall as fast as he could.

-

Swerve didn’t know what went wrong with Drift. He must’ve said something stupid – had he referenced Drift’s time as a Decepticon? Slipped in a wrong joke? 

Well, whatever he’d said, he was pretty sure that that rift between them had just been widened by a few more miles. Goodbye, friendship.  
Swerve leaned against one of the hallway bulkheads, and took a few long breaths to cool his frame. His stupid bout of frantic running hadn’t done anything to help alleviate the symptoms, and his head was starting to ache as well. 

Not Blurr, not Skids, not Drift…  
Well, there was one more speedster on the ship that made Swerve’s engine whine. And that mech would most DEFINITELY take him to berth now that he was in heat, no matter what he said! Rodimus was into anything! 

Pushing back more disappointment, Swerve flared his plating again, and stretched himself out. The Heat made him more than he usually was, and he could do what he couldn’t do before. And that included asking Rodimus for a roll in the berth. 

Swerve headed off to Rodimus’ habsuite.

-

Rodimus was a beautiful and energetic mech. He could light up the room just with the energy in his voice and demeanor, and he just made the impression that he would never, ever back down.  
Swerve liked Rodimus, both his spirit and his gleaming frame. He wanted that light to shine onto him , like being the focus of a great and powerful sun. 

He had made it all the way to the hallway where Rodimus' quarters were located, when he found that he couldn’t take another step forward. Ironically enough…. It was because he didn’t want to. 

He liked Rodimus. He admired Rodimus. He wanted to follow him, and be a part of that fire-…  
But...he didn't like how Rodimus made him feel.

There was always that awful, desperate little feeling in his gut when he was close to Rodimus. That pressing voice telling him not to frag it up, or he'd lose whatever respect or goodwill that Rodimus had for him. He wants to prove himself useful, but with that energy so close, it hurts so much when it refuses to shine on him.  
Even if he’s not that great in shooting, or filing reports, or whatever job he has to do- it would be nice if his effort was recognised. Maybe earn a pat on the back, a Rodimus star… A smile.

He should just walk up to that door and knock. Tell Rodimus about the situation, maybe throw in a few drinks or something, to make it all more attractive -… because he wants this so much.  
He took a step backwards, and played with his fingers. The longer he stood there, the harder it was to take those last few strides up to Rodimus' door. He wasn’t sure if he could take it if Rodimus rejected him in this.

Before he knew it, he was already walking away, mentally crossing Rodimus off his list.

He walked past the habsuites, until he came to a storage room, where he walked in and sat on one of the crates. His optics were burning, and the itching tingles from his heat were making him feel miserable. 

There was actually nobody left on his list.

Or, as he should say; he couldn't imagine any of them ending in a 'yes' anymore. He’d really expected Skids to say yes. That was why he’d come to him first! He had a far bigger preference for a frame like Rodimus’, or Drift’s – but he had been so sure that Skids would say yes….  
The rest of the people on his list had been more of an excuse to daydream, and imagine that everyone on the shipe desired him and his stupid jokes. 

He'd shot Rung in the head, Tailgate was unofficially Cyclonus' mate, Magnus was about as likely to fraternise as he was to smile, Whirl would kill him.....  
There were other mecha, of course. Plenty of pretty, and cool mecha- most of which ignored him, or called him by mean names. They might take him up on his offer if he made it, but he didn’t doubt that they were going to hold it over his head forever.

Drift and Skids- they would have treated him right, he knew. Outside of that? He doubted it.

Well, maybe Ratchet, but medics had this weird thing about not entering a relationship with... patients.

Swerve froze as an idea took root. The med-bay was for people who were sick. He was, by technical terms, in need of medical assistance!  
Ratchet was not at all bad looking, and for all that prickly grumpy outside, he was actually a pretty nice mech. First Aid wasn’t a bad catch either – and they were bound to be caring. If they broke anything, they’d have to fix it, so they wouldn’t just do it for their own fun. 

They had a vow to help patients, didn't they? Or at least some sort of obligation to make sure that the Heat wasn't going to burn out his wires. Plus, they wouldn't throw him out after! They'd need him to stay over for a bit for observation – feed him some energon, make sure he was okay...  
Swerve could take some annoyed snarls and prickly behaviour if it meant he got to be taken care of, and feel wanted.

Ratchet was grouchy, but he had never been mean to Swerve. Swerve got off his box, and began his trek towards the medbay, already feeling better about himself.

-

It was early in the day cycle, and Ratchet was the only mecha in the room as Swerve entered. He was reading a datapad, squinting at the words as if they’d personally offended him.

“Hellooo! How’s the top doc doing today huh?” Swerve began. “Life treating you well? 

“That better not be the start of some awful joke.” Ratchet warned.

“Oh no, I would never!” Swerve held a hand to his chestplate for added honesty. “I’m here for some help. I ran into an unusual problem this morning. I woke up today, all woozy and hot, and after some self-diagnostics, my frame told me that I am in heat.” Swerve explained.

Ratchet's optics widened a little in surprise. “In Heat?”

“I know right?” Swerve said, a little louder than he had intended. “Isn't that crazy? I never thought it'd happen to me! What is it they say in the commercial for that one romantic move again? 'Once every thousand vorns, out of a billion bots'- something like that?”

“Probably.” Ratchet mumbled, and he took a scan of Swerve’s frame. “Yep, that’s the Heat alright. Did you find someone to help and satisfy the protocols?”

Swerve did his best not to look nervous, and he put on a grin as he leaned against one of the med-berths. “Why? Are you interested?”

He hoped Ratchet was.

Ratchet just let out a huff of amusement, and put away the scanner. “Very funny. Stay here,” He said. “I'll go and get your treatment.”

-

Swerve sat in his habsuite, and looked down into the box that Ratchet had given him. A false spike and a thick silicone spike-sleeve looked back at him, almost mocking him with their existence.

“Any ceiling-node overload ends the heat, no matter if it's a mech, a toy, or some freakishly long fingers.” Ratchet had said as he'd pushed Swerve out of the medbay. “The 'frag as a cure' is just some tripe from romance novels, and because some mecha in the lower castes couldn't afford a fake spike to end their heat.”

Swerve's frame still felt hot and overclocked, but he only wanted to lie down and sleep for a very long time. Self-servicing was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.  
If the symptoms of the heat hadn’t been so incessant he probably would have put it all off for a few days, but as it was he couldn’t fall into recharge.

He ordered the lights to dim, and lied down on his side, bringing the false spike down between his legs.

Maybe he should have asked Whirl after all, Swerve reflected at a later point. His berth sported splatters of lubricant, and his thighs felt cold. His wrist ached from his attempts at simulating thrusts with the false spike, and his valve ached where the false spike had chafed the lining.  
It had taken a long time before he'd been able to trigger an overload strong enough to dispel the heat; his thoughts had been dwelling on different things than interface.

Swerve wanted nothing more than to roll over and hold onto someone, but all he had were the toys, and they weren't great to cuddle with.

He shoved the toys off his berth, turned his back to them, and forced his systems into recharge.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this some time ago and finally got around to putting the finishing touch on the editing. Great thanks to Harutemu for reminding me that it existed and that it is ok to post :) Questions are very much welcome!
> 
> I can be found on tumblr as Insecwrites!


End file.
